


The Web of Time

by DavidRThompson



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Hospitalization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:41:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22185778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DavidRThompson/pseuds/DavidRThompson
Summary: Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart receives an important call to visit a patient in hospital, and is confronted with the real implications of a promise made in the mud of 1914, of which he is until now unaware...
Relationships: Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart & his father
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	The Web of Time

Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart sat back in the upholstery at the rear of the staff car, summoning up as much calm authority as he could, at least for the benefit of the chauffeur, who looked at him in the rear-view mirror from time to time. His ability to remain unflappable when faced with impossible situations, or under unimaginable barrages of enemy fire, had stood him in good stead during his career in the military, especially during his recent career in UNIT. Although, on reflection, the Brigadier knew he had also been lucky enough to have benefited from a great deal of outside help, mainly from one source in particular. But even the Doctor couldn’t help him now.

It had been shortly after the affair with the Axons that he had received the call. With commendable military efficiency, he was now being rushed to the centre of operations, as it were. A military escort accompanied the Ford Executive 3 litre V6 as it zoomed through central London, new-fangled American-style sirens causing a terrible racket among the commuter traffic. This could be the end of an era, the Brigadier reflected, and not just because of the imminent end of the post-war period, after which the British were in danger of leaving behind their stiff upper-lips, threatening to adopt many more affectations of their American cousins. There could be a more personal dynastic upheaval; a changing of the guard.

Alistair stared out of the window at the careering kerbside and street scenes. He felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. When the call came, it had not been entirely unexpected, and yet as the significance of what was being reported had hit him, his stomach had lurched and his entire being had been taken over by a feeling of loneliness and loss; and a specific feeling of dread that had not come over him since childhood. He’d had to pull himself together. There had been subordinate officers in the room.

The staff car screeched to a halt outside one of the entrances to the Royal Free Hospital. Corporal Bell was there waiting. She saluted as the Brigadier climbed out of the rear of the car.

‘Sir!’ she barked. ‘Please be good enough to follow me.’

The Brigadier followed, refusing to reveal in his features any hint of the gratitude that he felt towards Corporal Bell that she had taken care of the all the liaison required for this encounter. That was the way of the military. Orders were orders; there was no need for please and thank you. The two uniformed officers bypassed receptionists, orderlies and nurses and marched down the endless pale green corridors unescorted by staff. 

Once away from the throng of people near Reception, Corporal Bell was at liberty to report. ‘I’m told he’s fully conscious, and doing well despite the considerable trauma. It’s too early to say where we’re likely to go from here. It’s his age, you see Sir. He could fully recover, but it gets very unpredictable with an older patient.’

‘Not to worry, Corporal,’ the Brigadier breezed in response as they continued onward, at the double. ‘He’s a tough old bird.’

Alistair wondered how members of the public would cope in his situation, with no one to help them, having to negotiate access, whereabouts, diagnosis, prognosis and all the rest, all in the terror and confusion of what might happen to them and their loved ones, alone. There certainly were advantages to his position at the top of his organisation, despite the physical dangers he was expected to face.

They reached the door to a private room. Corporal Bell knocked on the door sharply and was invited to enter.

Alistair imperceptibly took a deep breath, and followed her in.

Inside the room, he saw a doctor supervising a nurse who was administering drugs intravenously. And, under their care, chuntering at their fussing and deliberative activities, Alistair saw his father. He paled visibly. His father, in a hospital bed. As if to misdirect, the Brigadier gave an order.

‘That will be all, Corporal Bell. Carry on.’

Corporal Bell was already tactfully retreating from the scene before the order was given. The door closed behind her.

The Brigadier removed his leather gloves and brought them together in his hands, looking to the medical staff for their report. Not used to military protocol, the doctor simply waited until Alistair was sufficiently composed to ask the question. There was an awkward silence.

‘So…’ Alistair began. ‘How is he getting on?’

‘Remarkably well, given the circumstances,’ the doctor replied. ‘The ambulance got to him in good time, and so we were able to prevent the worst of the damage caused by the heart trauma. He needs rest though. Lots of rest.’

Retired General Gordon Archibald Lethbridge-Stewart tried to resist their mollycoddling. ‘Nonsense! I’ll be as right as rain in no time. You see if I’m not!’

‘Come now, Father,’ Alistair tried to calm the situation. ‘You’re in this place for a reason. You’ve had a nasty turn. So do as you’re told.’

‘Bah!’ his father answered back.

The doctor frowned. ‘I think we’ve already had this conversation with the General, Brigadier. We’ll leave you to it and see if you can have more success than we have! We’ll speak properly later.’

With that, the doctor left the room, followed by the nurse, who said nothing. Seemingly placated by the use of his former title, Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart was quiet for a time.

The Brigadier sat at the end of the bed, awkwardly. He looked again at his father, relieved beyond words that the old man actually seemed to still have some fight left in him. Habitually, the Brigadier hid the gratitude which poured from his heart from the telegraphing nature of his facial features. Collecting himself, he spoke. ‘Now look, Father. Even you must understand the seriousness of this situation. It’s time that you slowed down for once!’

Much to Alistair’s surprise, his Father didn’t argue. Instead, he looked at his son with a proud smile. ‘It’s good to see you in uniform, boy.’

Alistair forced the sentiment of his father far away from his thoughts. ‘You gave us quite a turn. I’ve had to hot-foot it over here. I’m… glad that you’re feeling better.’ The Brigadier’s voice cracked slightly, to his embarrassment.

‘Yes, I seem to have made it through on this occasion. But we both know I might not be so lucky next time. Not at my age.’

Alistair once again looked over at his father in the hospital bed. He seemed diminished. ‘Well, there’s no need for that sort of talk...’

His father interrupted him. ‘Don’t contradict me, boy! You may have made it to Brigadier, but it’s still only some tin-pot UN organisation, formed to counteract goodness knows what! I can’t abide these new initiatives. Politicians and spies taking over the military, that’s the problem!’

‘You know I can’t discuss that with you, Father.’ This was better. A conversation that was far more familiar, and much safer for the temperament.

‘I mean it’s not as if you’ve seen action it? War, I mean.’

That again, eh? The Brigadier kept a dignified silence, until, responding to his father’s jibe for the first time ever he said, ‘I’ve still lost good men.’

At this, his father regarded him quietly, but not unkindly. He didn’t seem to want to argue now. And it was almost as if he had been going through the motions in any case, before Alistair’s response silenced him finally. Something passed between them, some yearned for respect towards the younger man, and an acknowledgement in return.

‘There’s something I need to tell you, Alistair,’ the Brigadier heard his father say. ‘I know more about your command than you think I do. Probably more than I should.’

‘Oh?’ said the Brigadier casually.

‘Nothing you need to worry about, of course. I signed the Official Secrets Act before you were thought of. But even generals talk to each other. And, like any parent, we might take more of an interest in our off-springs’ career than perhaps we ought to.’

The Brigadier frowned. ‘I gained all my promotions on merit,’ he said warningly.

‘Absolutely, my boy. That’s the thing about the army. So much loyalty to Queen and country. We’ll only speak up for our own if they bally well deserve it. There’s been many a proud father who still wouldn’t put forward his son for a job if he knew he didn’t have what it takes. But even so, I still wouldn’t have pushed you behind the scenes in those corridors of power. I believe that a man will progress to the top without the right word in the right places, if he’s good enough. And so I didn’t get involved at all. Well, until one day. It was your promotion from Colonel to Brigadier. One man persuaded me on that score.’

The Brigadier straightened himself on the bed, resistant to the idea of someone pulling strings, but still intrigued at who his mysterious benefactor could be. As far as he could imagine, there could only be one candidate, but his father’s next announcement deprived him of that notion.

‘I met him briefly during the war. Scottish he was, so obviously I knew he could be trusted.’ The twinkle of a conspiratorial smile. ‘I was very young then, just starting out. I’d been billeted at the North Yorkshire Signals Camp, under Sergeant Leigh and Captain Bates. All very hush-hush. Some of the most extra-ordinary things of my entire career happened at that place. We were being infiltrated by Russian commandos – all involved in a secret war and preparing for when we would be enemies again with some remarkable foresight. But there were other attackers too. Creatures of the like I had never seen. Creatures that seemed impervious to bullets and could only be kept at bay by… well, through faith… Faith in our cause, or religion, or whatever worked really… But this man, he brought us together, made us forget our differences, found a common enemy. We fought alongside the Russians again, just like our brothers did later on, making towards Berlin. And we won. We drove the creatures away.’

The Brigadier was amazed that his father could have had such an experience – an experience which sounded very similar to some of the things that he himself had encountered – and had never spoken of it to his only son. He almost cursed the fact that their military background and practical nature precluded such a precious opportunity for familial bonding and clubbable bragging. His father went on.

‘This man – it seemed that he had been sent by the War Office, but afterwards, no one knew anything about him. And he just vanished. Disappeared. The men who had become comrades never even got to thank him for what he had done. Shortly afterwards, I was posted elsewhere, later got involved on the western front, we won the war, then there was that nasty business in the Suez, and retirement… Well, I forgot all about it. And then he showed up again...’

Alistair was hooked into the story. He had become so much more credulous these last years.

‘It was around the time of the evacuation of London in the seventies. I know that you were involved with that. Don’t worry – that’s all I know! But there had been some talk about who should lead this new Taskforce for the UN. And this man, this little Scottish chap, comes to me, and he tells me that I need to do everything I can to make sure that you, my son, got the job. Now remember that I met this man during the war, in the forties. He shows up thirty years later and he doesn’t look any different! Not a day older, absolutely identical. I swear he was even wearing the same clothes!’

Well, that sounded familiar, thought Alistair. But how could it be him?

‘He told me what a great man you were, how you were able to lead from the front, command great loyalty and bravery from your men, and were completely unflappable. So I said, well, I know, he’s my son! He just said to me something quite odd. He said – sometimes we give the people we love and trust the hardest tasks, and because of that, sometimes we don’t appreciate the ones we love the most because our impossible demands make them fail. He said that he’d learnt that from you! He made me feel proud, even though I didn’t quite understand what he meant. That came afterwards – many years afterwards… I said I’d do as much as I could to put in a good word in all the right places. But I asked him why he was doing this. I’ll never forget this – do you know what he said? He said that he’d made a promise to my father Archie to look after his family in 1914! And I believed him… It was all ludicrous of course, but there was something about him, his conviction, his sincerity, and I believed him.’

The Brigadier couldn’t help but wonder about his friend, the Doctor, always tinkering with that blue box, swearing that it could teleport anywhere, any time… That was preposterous. But then so was changing your entire physiognomy… and the Brigadier knew that the scruffy little man that he first met and his tall, imperious, occasionally pompous friend now were the same man. He knew it.

‘So you see, my boy. I do know a little about what you’ve been doing, what you’ve been leading. I was fighting unearthly creatures in 1943! As well as meeting impossible men, impossible situations. I tried to bring you up to take all that on board. Don’t take anything for granted. Face what you’re dealing with, not what makes sense. You can counter most threats in the field with five rounds rapid, but always have a plan B! I hope now that you can understand the legacy that I’ve tried to pass on. The legacy that I hope you can pass on to your children too, when the time comes.’

The Brigadier said nothing for a while. Once again, he couldn’t help but regret the fact that this honesty from his father had only come on the occasion of a near-death experience. But there was still some kind of powerful truth to be found in it all. And after all, not knowing about his father’s experiences had meant that Alistair had faced all of the horrors he had faced without any kind of foreknowledge. Sometimes it was better to learn how you went along, in your own way, on your own terms. And learning the truth of what his father had always known only at this moment, still had a resonance of proof that underlined its everlasting veracity. Alistair need never question his sanity when it came to events around the Doctor ever again!

He leaned over and clasped his father’s hands from his position at the end of the bed. He felt almost as if their positions had been reversed from just minutes ago, when in actual fact it had been many years since his father had sat at the foot of the bed in this way, reading stories of bravery and derring-do to the young Alistair. That was a sort of time-travel, he supposed.

‘Thank you, Father,’’ he said. ‘Thank you. I hope that you understand what telling me this means to me. Thank you for taking the opportunity to do so.’

Gordon Archibald Lethbridge-Stewart smiled at his grown-up son. ‘You’re welcome, Alistair. It feels like you’re still fighting the good fight, even though we have mostly peace, on Earth at least. I just wanted to make sure that you know you still have plenty of ammunition. Somewhere.’

The Brigadier rose to his feet. ‘I have to go. The loneliness of command and all that,’ he smiled. ‘Now you make sure you listen to those doctors and rest. And when you’re out of this place, we’ll make time to have a wee dram together. And you can tell me all about this Scottish chap.’

His father nodded. ‘You’re buying,’ he countered affectionately.

He was already drifting into sleep when the Brigadier left the room with a soft click behind him.

Outside the room, the Brigadier was shocked to see Sergeant Benton running down the corridor towards him. He stopped inches from his face, flustered.

‘What is it, Benton?’ the Brigadier said, irritably. ‘Where’s Corporal Bell?’

‘That’s just it, Sir!’ Benton wailed. ‘I’ve had to come to relieve her. She’s gone AWOL. Resigned her commission on the spot!’

‘What?’ the Brigadier roared. ‘I’ll have her court-martialled for this!’

‘That’s what I told her, Sir! But there was this woman, Sir. Said Corporal Bell had to leave UNIT and see the world! A blonde woman, Sir. Long coat, like the Doctor’s. Yorkshire accent...’

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this because I wanted to work through some of the implications of the Doctor's promise to Archie in 'Twice Upon a Time' to look after his family, in a way which would still work within the continuity that had been established at that time. I also thought it would be nice to throw in a fun explanation as to why Corporal Bell disappears after being in 'the Mind of Evil' and 'the Claws of Axos'!


End file.
